


Show Me How to be Whole Again

by Yeoyou



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, POV Multiple, Smut, blatantly ignoring all canon, broken people healing together, fanon!Theseus, soul searching smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeoyou/pseuds/Yeoyou
Summary: When Percival Graves succumbs and asks his former lover Theseus Scamander to come and help him, he hopes it will distract him from Credence Barebone living with him. Well, Theseus certainly helps him but with a surprising outcome.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves/Theseus Scamander
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Past the Black Where the Sirens Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LotusRox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/gifts).



> So, first off, this Theseus is NOT canon Theseus but rather the version LotusRox introduced to me way back before the second movie had ever happened. And I LOVE her Thes. And the fact that she fancast Toby Stephens for him didn't even play the most important part in that (btw, please do yourself a favour and go read her stories, they're asbolutely bloody brilliant!).
> 
> Secondly, this story has been slowly coming together for ages, which is why I'm only posting it now, when the fandom has probably died, especially for this OT3. Well, shit happens. If you somehow stumbled into reading this anyway, dear reader, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thirdly, this is BY FAR the most smut I've ever written! And the first threesomes!! It was an experience...

_ A Graves never asks for help. _

Percival had discarded most of the things his father had taught him but this lesson had stuck around longer than most.

_ You don't ask for help. You get where you want by hard work and determination. Needing help is showing weakness and no Graves is ever weak. _

Well, fuck that.

His father had never had to experience anything coming even close to the torment that Grindelwald had inflicted on Percival's body and mind. Percival had persevered because that’s what a Graves did and it had worked out. In a way.

A way that left him broken and shattered, held together by sheer stubbornness and not enough magic.

He hadn’t even put up that much of a fight when Seraphina had insisted on him resting for a while. He wasn’t fit for work, even he knew that. Bloody  _ everyone _ knew that at MACUSA.

So fuck his father and his father’s principles.

The first help he'd gone to was a bottle of Scotch that soon turned into several and quickly slipped into too many. But then Credence Barebone had come to live with him and Percival knew he needed more than numbing alcohol. Because the boy deserved better than that, even if Percival was no longer sure he himself did.

There was only one person he could turn to. Not his colleagues from work, the ones who'd failed him just as he had failed all of them. No. What he needed was someone who might still believe in him. Who knew him at his best. And for once, best didn't mean the most powerful and influential.

The idea of calling for him had lurked between his waking thoughts and slithered into his dreams but he'd been afraid of appearing too weak.

Now? Now he saw it as one last belated rebellion against his long dead father and his instructions. Being weak out of spite? Well, he'd tried everything else and Merlin knew, he'd rather gnaw his own arm off than see Credence hurt once more. And asking for help had to be more pleasant than chewing limbs.

Besides, there were some other side effects he hoped for if,  _ when _ , Theseus Scamander arrived. Because the tension building between Credence and him was getting ever harder to ignore and he needed a distraction from that. And who better than the man who’d never left his thoughts or his heart although he had left him behind on the empty battlefields of Europe?

And yet, writing the note devoured more parchment than reasonable and mountains of discarded notes conspired with the dust bunnies in the corners, whispering once more of failure.

In the end, he kept it brief.

_ Thes, please come if convenient. If not, come anyway. I need you. Percival _

An inside joke and not too many explanations. If Thes decided to ignore the summons, he shouldn't be weighed down by any knowledge of Percival's nightmares or the fact that his magical abilities were still a mess and less dependable than a broom in a storm.

He'd know it was urgent without the details. Because Percival Graves did not ask for help and did not admit to needing anyone ever.

If he had done so, he might never have returned to America after the war, leaving Thes and his own heart behind.

Days passed and nothing happened. Percival lost count of how many times he calculated when his message would reach Thes, how fast the British auror would send a reply. How soon Thes himself could be expected .

A few days after the message had been sent, Percival realised that Credence should probably be warned that a stranger might arrive and went about it as awkwardly as with anything else these days.

Credence didn't say anything other than acknowledging the new information but even though Percival was not always a good reader of emotions and Credence was as evasive as they came, Percival got the impression that the boy was not happy with this potential change in their circumstances. Credence soon withdrew to his room and the older magician couldn't help but feel it as symbolic.

Fuck it. If anybody would be able to draw him out of his shell, it would be Thes.

And he'd succeed, eventually, though even Percival could not have foreseen to what extent.

The day Thes joined them in Percival's apartment was just one more rainy day in a long spell of equally dismal days. Percival and Credence were occupied with the wash-up after lunch—doing it by hand after too many broken plates by spells gone wrong.

Percival forgot the dishes, forgot the slightly wet towel slung over his shoulder, forgot even the boy, hanging back in awkward silence and shy distrust of the stranger suddenly in the room, wet hair dark against his forehead, freckles just visible in the tanned face, brows knitted together in worry.

It was perhaps the clearest sign he needed help that Percival said not a word, hesitated not a second before embracing the other magician and holding him fast.

“Percy.”

He swallowed the tenderness and worry in the other's voice down with his own words, just clung to Theseus, feeling like he could breathe freely for the first time in far too long. Feeling like he could finally let go, with steady arms to hold him.

Time paused for a generous moment but eventually resumed and they had to step apart, Credence and Thes had to be introduced and arrangements had to be made. Also clothes were wet and had to be changed.

“Credence has the guest room.” Percival cleared his throat. “You can have the couch, of course, if you prefer. Or we could put a spell on the broom closet and enlarge it into a second guest chamber...” He stared doubtfully at the closed door next to his own bedroom.

Theseus Scamander, who was an excellent auror because there was more to him than just brawn, had noticed Percival's hesitation, had seen the wand carelessly left on the kitchen table and waved his hand dismissively.

“Don't tell me you've called me here just to stick me in the closet. I don't think there's any need to alter the blueprint when you've got a perfectly fine bed right there.”

He smiled, somehow mocking and reassuring Percival at the same time.

“I hadn't wanted to assume...”

“Assume away.”

Percival's mouth twitched. It had been a long time since he smiled and it did not sit easily on his lips now, but already he felt lighter.

Thes was  _ here _ .

Evening found his nerves resurfacing once Credence had politely excused himself to bed and left Thes and him alone. Thes had asked no questions, regaled them instead with news from Europe and some of the more harmless stories of auror mission mishaps and strangely, Percival had not once felt a longing for his old job, all his emotional capacities filled with gratitude towards the man who'd abandoned everything to come to his aid.

He was sure he didn't deserve it but was determined to lap everything up regardless.

Once in his room, their room now, he pushed past the hesitation and reached for Thes, taking his hand lightly between his own, forcing himself to look the other man squarely in the face.

“Thank you.”

Thes' eyebrow shot up. But then he returned the grip and stepped closer to Percival.

“Always.”

A moment shared, eyes open, hearts open, and Percival surged forward, catching Thes's lips hungrily, drowning in need and gratitude.

Thes's arms steadied him, hands gripping fabric and flesh, lips returning the kiss.

Two men drowning in a storm.

Clothes puddled on the floor fast as the two reacquainted themselves with each other. Hands roaming over skin at once familiar and yet subtly altered.

Or not so subtly.

Thes’s hands hesitated when they discovered the scars on Percival’s arm and back. Lasting reminders of Grindelwald despite the efforts of MACUSA’s best healers.

“Oh Percy …”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare, Thes.” Percival’s fingers digged into Thes’s arms until the other man flinched. “Don’t pity me.”

“Pity you?” Thes fought hard for the levity in his voice. “I just marvel at your stupidity and how you managed to stay alive for so long without me.”

Percival frowned, averting his gaze.

“I marvel at that myself far too often.”

“Well, you’ve always been a stubborn bastard so I can only assume that Death himself grew tired of trying to lure you in.”

Strong but gentle fingers angled Percival’s head so Thes could kiss him again. Sure and reassuring and Percival stopped worrying.

Worrying about how long Thes could stay. How this new thing would fit into Credence’s and his routine, how the boy and Thes would get along, how any of this could work.

Because right now, it did.

All the years, the heartbreak and distance melted in the heat between them and Percival wondered how he’d ever managed to leave this man. His sheer presence over the evening had been electrifying but now, so close and true and real, it was all he could do to remind himself to breathe.

Which wasn’t made any easier by the hands currently roaming over his body or the teeth scraping over his neck.

Thes guided him towards the bed until they both toppled onto the covers. For a moment, the familiarity of the sheets, of the pictures on the walls, of the fact that this was  _ his _ bed and  _ his _ home and Thes was  _ here _ made him shudder.

Thes gently stroked his arms, slowing down.

“You okay?”

Percival squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, breathed. “Not really but let’s not talk about that now, okay? I just …” need you. “Don’t … this isn’t a pity fuck, right?”

Percival wasn’t sure he wanted an answer, needed the clarification nonetheless.

But Theseus just burst out laughing. “If I recall right, it was mostly you who did the fucking.” Thes nibbled at his lower lip and Percival grinned despite himself.

Thes settled down more comfortably on the bed, searching Percival’s face, slowly stroking his arms.

“But if you don’t want this or not now … I don’t want to assume.” He attached his signature wry smile to his last words but Percival had no trouble reading the sincerity, and the worry, in Thes’s eyes.

“Assume away.”

Thes smiled, a true smile, and Percival was taken aback by all the emotions packed into that face he hadn’t seen for so long but dreamed of ever since leaving Europe.

And then Thes pushed him onto his back, the smile playing around his lips now decidedly less mushy and more lewd.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume it’s been a while for you so I’ll be a good guest and do all the work. This time.”

He left Percival little time to mentally prepare before gripping his cock with a firm hand that made Percival’s whole body jerk upwards at the touch. The smile widened.

It took just a few strokes before Percival was fully hard in Thes’s grip, clutching at sheets left and right but never letting his gaze wander from Thes’s face. Thes, who kept watching him just as intently. And then grinned.

“Hold that for a moment, will you?”

He nudged Percival’s cock in his direction and Percival complied, taking himself in hand while watching Thes reach for his wand.

“ _ Accio _ lube.”

The lube answered. Both bottles. One springing from the second drawer of Percival’s bedside table, one zooming out of Thes’s luggage that he’d deposited by the door.

“It’s always good to be prepared,” they both muttered, grinning at each other, a flicker of shared history tingling at their synapses.

Thes accepted his own bottle and redirected Percival’s back to the bedside table. And then went about preparing himself.

As much as Percival had loved doing it for Thes, he’d always enjoyed watching him, the concentration and efficiency, the shifting of muscles in his face and body, how unguarded he looked in those moments, focusing solely on himself.

Percival had taken up stroking his cock again, but almost lazily, waiting for the moment when Thes deemed himself ready enough to take him in.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“I’ll have that back then, thank you.” Thes nodded at Percival’s hand and he withdrew it, settling it instead on Thes’s thigh while the other man positioned himself.

“It’s all yours.”

Percival tried to sound nonchalant but couldn’t quite mask the raspiness of his voice nor the sharp intake of breath as Thes lowered himself onto his cock.

It had indeed been a while.

Even longer that he’d felt himself buried in Theseus Scamander’s excellent ass. He was glad that he could watch him, this first time together, even though Thes’s scrutiny in return was almost too much, almost too intense. But just as the sensations spreading from his cock through his whole body, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss even a fraction of it.

“Stars, I’ve missed that bloody cock of yours.”

Percival grabbed Thes’s hips, trying to make him move faster but Thes took his time, had always enjoyed driving Percival mad before releasing him.

He’d missed him too.

When Percival came inside of him, Thes finished himself with a few strokes while riding out Percival’s orgasm and then slid off him.

Still in the spirit of ‘doing all the work,’ he grabbed again for his wand and performed the very handy clean up spell that both of them had used quite often in their time together. Once the mess was taken care of, Thes draped himself over Percival, nudging him with his nose.

“You feeling better now?”

Percival traced the lines on Thes’s face, laughter and anger and worry and all these emotions he hadn’t been there for.

“Yeah.” He still was far from okay but with Thes here, he was sure he’d get there, eventually. “Yeah I am.”


	2. Drop Me Down to the Dream Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually the start of it all, the other two chapters just forming around it to paint a fuller picture...

The first time had been an accident.

Although Credence had known, and imagined, and imagined some more, that Mr. Graves and Mr. Scamander were lovers, he had never actually seen the two men engage in anything more than a tender stroke of fingers over a well cut sleeve. Not even a kiss had been shared in Credence's presence and he wasn't sure, couldn't be certain, but he gathered that it was Mr. Graves who'd put a stop to any public displays of affections.

Mr. Scamander didn't seem happy with it, stealing prolonged touches and gazes, but he acquiesced.

Was it for his sake? Credence couldn't say. Neither could he decide whether he was glad of their hidden love life or would have had it more open. Both were torture.

His longing for his saviour had increased tenfold with the certainty that it was in vain the moment Mr. Theseus Scamander had stepped through the fireplace and Credence had seen the sheer relief on Mr. Graves' face, the weight lifted off tense shoulders. Their embrace that day was the only one he had ever witnessed between the two but it spoke volumes that Credence was loath to hear but couldn't stop listening to. He could smell the history between them, taste it in the way Mr. Scamander called the man he'd ever known as Mr. Graves “Percy” in that familiar way.

That history was an entity in itself, suddenly living with them, expanding, permeating the apartment until it filled every crevice, every nook Credence could find. An obscurus all on its own.

But since Mr. Graves, the man he admired and loved, was obviously better with Mr. Scamander around: how could he begrudge it? He was unimportant. He had always known that and though Mr. Graves, Mr. Grindelwald-as-Graves, Mr. Graves had told him he was special, wasn't that just because of the magic in his veins? The obscurus, his magic, none of it felt like a part of him and so the only conclusion was that he, Credence himself, had only gained importance by proximity. And so he shrunk from the weight of a foreign history, withdrew into his shell, and became a watcher once more.

Perhaps they realised and had decided that they would not make him feel any more left out by displaying their affection. Perhaps it had nothing to do with him at all.

Sometimes it worked and Credence couldn't deny that Mr. Scamander's presence had a positive effect not only on Mr. Graves but on himself as well. The least scarred of them all, the one dragging them out into the world when all Mr. Graves and Credence had done in the past months was to hole themselves up. He was light and life and laughter. Relentless and without mercy.

It didn't make it any easier, that Credence truly liked him. Appreciated all of the more easy-going affection Mr. Scamander showed him. Where Mr. Graves and he had danced around each other, too aware of every word and every gesture and especially every touch, Mr. Scamander did not hesitate to touch Credence. A friendly slap on the shoulder, a nudge with his elbow, a hand gently pushing him out of the way in the narrow kitchen on the way to his morning coffee. And Credence, who had never much liked to be touched by strangers, Mr. Graves being the obvious exception for obvious reasons, found to his astonishment that he did like it. It had something comfortingly grounding. It made him feel seen, present in body as well as spirit, and just as normal as any everyday object in Mr. Graves' apartment.

For all that Mr. Scamander would obviously have liked to be able to openly love his partner, he never gave Credence the feeling of being in the way, unwanted. He wasn't treated as an inconvenience. And Credence was more grateful than he could ever express.

All in all, Credence was glad for Mr. Scamander's presence and so what if he, on occasion, alone at night in his locked room, in his empty bed, imagined the two men kiss, imagined them running their hands over each other's bodies, imagined them entwined? Surely the only harm done was to himself. He never entertained the notion of actually trying to steal glances at them while they were thus occupied.

So the first time was an accident.

He'd returned early from a venture to the park due to a rain shower. Credence, encouraged especially by Mr. Scamander, had adopted the habit of walking there in order to get some air and “some time away from us old buggers.” Mr. Scamander's words. He didn't have to explain that it also meant that the two of them would have some time without Credence. It was implied and it was the least Credence could do to repay the kindness shown to him to grant them that. He'd lately widened his rounds, tried to give them more time, all the while attempting, mostly in vain, not to think too much about what they were up to once he'd left the house. Not to think about hands and mouths. Black and ginger and skin.

He had never been very good at not thinking.

Normally, Credence wouldn't have minded the rain, but the rain was soon interspersed with hail and he'd still not managed the spell that turned his clothes waterproof.

Maybe he'd also lost track of time and was much earlier back than he thought, maybe Mr. Graves and Mr. Scamander had lost track of time, Credence couldn't say and was too preoccupied afterwards to check the clock.

A lifelong habit of quietness meant he slipped back into the apartment almost noiselessly. If he'd thought about it, he might have taken the precaution to bang the door, to step firmer on the tiles of the hall. But his only thought was to get out of his wet clothes when he caught a strange noise that stopped him in his tracks.

The door to Mr. Graves' bedroom, shared by Mr. Scamander, that much had never been hidden, was slightly ajar and now the moan of pleasure was unmistakable.

Credence swallowed and crept closer, not thinking about what he was doing, just knowing that he had to— What? He couldn't say.

He hardly breathed, straining to pick up any stray sigh and moan escaping into the cold hallway. The thudding of flesh on flesh, the creaking of the bed.

When he finally reached the door, he couldn't see much but the image still seared itself onto his brain in stark detail. The two bodies on the bed, facing away from him. Mr. Graves's back, drawn with swirling scars, the muscles shifting under glistening skin, taut with tension; the arm, dotted with blond hair, gripping the sheet, the hint of an open mouth and closed eyes.

It took three tries until Credence could swallow past the lump in his throat. Seven tries until he managed to turn forcibly around. And three more until he persuaded his feet to carry him to his own room.

He sat on his bed, breathing heavily, not even aware of his wet clothes slowly soaking the duvet. He closed his eyes, the scene still vivid behind his eyelids. And things had just become so much more difficult.

The second time, Credence still tried to persuade himself that it was just another accident. Reproached the two men mentally for not being more careful.

After the third, he did away with the useless delusion and accepted that he had become addicted that first time, hearing that first sound, seeing naked flesh and feeling all that warmth running through his own body, pooling deep down.

He became bolder, less ashamed, more desperate for any glimpse he could steal.

He wasn't always lucky and on some days he was glad when he didn't succeed, swearing he would stop chasing danger and madness. And on other days, the disappointment gnawed his insides raw with anger.

He hoarded the pictures, the sounds, all tucked neatly away. Treasures that were only to be taken out at night. Worshiped with sacrifices of sweat and semen and innocence.

Addiction breeds recklessness and so it was perhaps inevitable that one day, he would be found out. Later, Credence wondered whether maybe the two men had also become more reckless with the self-imposed need for secrecy, their desire for each other daring them to take greater risks, unable to resist any moment Credence wasn't present, or supposed to be present. Maybe they had courted danger as much as he had. To see where it would lead.

It all had to implode someday.

A door once more not completely closed in hurried desire, Credence unsatisfied with the little he could see stretching out his hand to nudge the obstacle away, just a little, just a little too much, and dark eyes finding his, startled, widening, while the hand clutching Mr. Scamander's shoulder tightened. Mr. Scamander, who was kneeling in front of Mr. Graves. Mr. Scamander, whose lips were drawn off Mr. Graves's cock with a very audible and very wet pop.

“Credence.” Mr. Graves's voice was hoarse and barely audible.

This was the moment that Credence should have flushed red, stammered an apology and should have made his hasty retreat. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, hand still treacherously outstretched towards the door, the beginning of his erection very visibly straining against his pants., unable to tear his gaze off Mr. Graves's eyes.

He wasn't sure how much time passed. An eternity of seconds.

Mr. Scamander rested back on his haunches, gaze travelling from Mr. Graves to Credence and back again, apparently coming to a decision as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, rose and turned towards Credence, walked towards him in measured, sure strides, unbothered by his own nakedness, his erect cock bobbing with every step.

Later, Credence realised that while Mr. Graves hid behind his well-tailored clothes, put on his armour in order to face the world with self-confidence, Mr. Scamander felt more at home in his own skin, a predator freed from social constraints once his clothes came off. It was this, that saved them, perhaps.

Credence's hand sank but still he could not move from where he stood, gaze now shifted towards Mr. Scamander. Next to Mr. Graves, he had never seemed all that powerful. Not weak, no, never that, but not as powerful either. Now, power radiated off his body, his face showing no concern other than calculation and curiosity as he closed the distance between them.

He finally came to a stop mere inches away from him. It still took Credence by surprise that he was taller than both men though in this moment, Mr. Scamander seemed to tower over him, all naked flesh right in front of him, smelling of sweat and sex, and gauging his reaction when he finally spoke.

“Do you want to join us, Credence?”

Credence's heart missed a beat at that as his eyes darted towards Mr. Graves, who seemed as surprised as he was but he also saw his hand closing around his cock and—

Was it possible that he wanted this?

It was out of the question that he could have said anything but when Mr. Scamander asked if he could kiss him, Credence, eventually, managed a jerky sort of nod.

In the second before Mr. Scamander's lips pressed onto his own, he remembered just where they had been moments before and his heart stuttered some more. His eyes closed shut, fingers twitching by his side as he marvelled at how soft he was being kissed. He'd expected ferocity but instead Mr. Scamander used hardly any pressure at all. He explored Credence's lips softly and carefully, cradling his face between his strong hands and Credence melted, swaying forward until he was pressed, body to body, against Mr. Scamander.

He gasped at the contact; an opportunity Mr. Scamander lost no time exploiting, slipping his tongue between Credence's lips.

When Mr. Scamander broke off the kiss, still holding Credence's face, he smiled a satisfied though not unkind smile, while Credence could only blink, lips still parted and longing for more.

“May I undress you?”

Panic swelled up in Credence's throat but he managed another nod.

Mr. Scamander nodded as well, studying Credence a moment longer.

“I want you to know that you can say 'stop' any time. Without consequences. Without repercussions. We won't do anything you don't want. Understood?”

He waited until Credence had nodded for the third time, before pressing another quick kiss to Credence's lips. Afterwards, his hands slid down from Credence's face to the buttons of his shirt.

While Credence shuddered under his hands, Mr. Scamander took his time. Carefully unbuttoning and unfastening all the layers on Credence's body and peeling them away to reveal flesh aching for every touch.

“You're so beautiful,” Mr. Scamander murmured, running his hands over heated skin. “Isn't he?”

With a quick step, he was suddenly behind Credence, encircling his waist with one strong arm, the hand of the other arm running feather-light touches over his chest and throat.

With Mr. Scamander no longer taking up all his visual space, Credence became aware of Mr. Graves again. He was still sitting on the bed, watching them, gaze travelling over Credence's body now laid bare, his hand stroking up and down his cock. And Credence knew what was happening. His body, he, Credence, was being presented to Mr. Graves.

And Mr. Graves approved.

He leaned back into the man behind him, more for the support than anything else but his cock twitched, his chest rising with lungs bursting, heart racing, and Mr. Scamander was there, holding him fast and sure.

Mr. Graves swallowed and let go of his cock. He rose and walked towards them both, eager and hesitant all at once. And Credence finally saw him in all his perfection, all his imperfection and found himself almost straining against Mr. Scamander's arms this time, filled only with longing.

“You are, Credence. Merlin, you're so beautiful.” Mr. Graves lifted his hand to Credence's cheek and Credence nearly buckled under the light touch. He felt more than heard the chuckle at the base of his neck as Mr. Scamander held him tighter.

“May I kiss you too?”

“Please...”

Credence was only half aware of having spoken, the barest whisper of breath, before Mr. Graves kissed him.

Mr. Graves was less gentle, more passionate and Credence surged against him, moaning into the kiss, losing himself at last.

Mr. Graves pressed his own body against Credence's, cocks sliding against each other in exquisite torture.

“My boy, my beautiful boy,” Mr. Graves murmured in-between kisses and his hand reached between their bodies, gripping their cocks and Credence bucked against him.

He was only aware of being engulfed in heat, of skin sliding against his, of two sets of lips driving him crazy, hands running over his body, past his body. His own hands were being guided towards Mr. Graves’ back and he wasn't sure which man's fingers were entangled with his own as he ran them clumsily over slick skin. He dared to reach further, grabbing hold of Mr. Graves' ass and the appreciative rumble in the man's throat that answered his daring freed his last restraints and he finally allowed himself to explore everything, grabbing and touching everything in reach, touching Mr. Graves!

Soon after, he was lost. He could have sworn that time stopped, that it doubled back and encircled him like the arms of the two men, one in front, one behind. In reality, it probably wasn't that long before he came all over Mr. Graves's hand, cum smeared between their bodies, a sighed “Mr. Graves” on his lips like a prayer.

It was a good thing he was steadied on both sides. He dimly felt his body being helped towards the bed, gently persuaded to lie down, a hand waving lazily over his crotch and abdomen, dispelling the mess. He watched the two wizards still caught in his haze of pleasurable afterglow. It was the first time they had really looked at each other since this whole bizarre dream had started and even in his current state, Credence caught some hesitation. Something had shifted, unexpectedly and terms had to be renegotiated.

“Thes.”

Credence ached at the tenderness in Mr. Graves's voice as the man reached for his lover. He watched, as the two kissed, hungrily, sloppily and Mr Graves pushed Mr. Scamander onto the bed. He watched, with interest, as Mr. Graves conjured up a fluid like substance onto his fingers and Mr. Scamander willingly presented his backside.

He watched, as they fucked as he had done so many times before. Only now he was right beside them, felt the tremors and shifting of the bed, saw Mr. Scamander screw his eyes shut as he reached his climax, heard every panting breath, every moan, every verbal encouragement.

Had they tried to be quiet for his sake? Perhaps. They were not quiet now and Credence felt his cock harden once more.

They paid no attention to him, caught in their own pleasure but strangely, Credence didn't feel like he intruded, an outsider, forgotten for the moment.

His fingers found their way to his cock and he panted alongside the two men.

Once they had both toppled to the side, spent and exhausted, and had taken a moment to recover, Mr. Scamander opened an eye and smirked as he caught Credence stroking himself.

“Let me help you with that.”

He disentangled himself from Mr. Graves' body still lying half on top of him and scudded further down the bed.

When Credence realised his intention, he shifted until he sat more upright, taking his hand off his cock, catching one last mischievous grin on the older man's face before Mr. Scamander's lips closed lightly around the tip of his cock.

Credence inhaled sharply, grabbing for a better hold as he felt Mr. Scamander's tongue pressing into the slit. His right hand found the sheet, his left Mr. Graves who chuckled.

“He's very good at that,” he confided and heaved himself into a sitting position. “Come here.”

He coaxed Credence between his legs, steadying his upper torso against his chest, stroking him, while Mr. Scamander continued his assault on Credence's cock. As with undressing him, he took his time, driving Credence alternately crazy with sucking and licking his cock.

“You have a very nice cock, Credence,” he praised in a short pause, stroking the base of it with his hand before taking it once more into his mouth.

Credence whimpered.

“It's alright, I've got you.”

Credence panted, pressing his back against Mr. Graves' still slick chest, arching against him.

“My beautiful boy.”

When he felt his second climax approaching, he panicked, panting out a warning that never quite reached a state of articulation. Mr. Scamander nevertheless got the hint and let him come into his hand, a grin stretched wide on his lips.

Once more the magical clean up was performed and Credence found himself cradled between the two wizards.

“That was nice.”

Graves reached across Credence for Mr. Scamander, who smirked again and held onto Mr. Graves's arm.

“Glad you liked it.” He tilted his head and studied Credence. “Did you enjoy it as well?”

“Oh yes.”

Both men chuckled at the breathless croak that escaped Credence's throat.

“Good.”

They held him closer and before Credence's consciousness slipped away into sleep, he had just time for one more thought: This was what being in paradise, if it existed, must feel like. Warm, and secure, and loved.


	3. Bring Me Home in a Blinding Dream

Morning found three bodies entwined on the bed, arms everywhere, an overabundance of legs, all flesh and aching muscles.

Morning found three men turned into one dissolving into three again.

Theseus Scamander was the first to rise. A careful extrication of limbs, lest he disturb either of the two remaining occupants of the bed. Both Credence and Percival were usually light sleepers, Theseus being the one who had to be dredged up from slumber. But there was nothing usual about this, was there?

Theseus stood still in the watery morning light and watched the figures on the bed, pale skin and scars at rest at last, and something in him thinned, something cracked, and he turned away fast, padded away to the bathroom.

By the time he emerged again, bladder empty, head still full, he'd come to a decision. Or rather he'd come to accept a decision he had apparently made the evening before. A decision that was started with the shock widened, lust widened eyes of Credence Barebone and cemented by Percy's fingers digging into his shoulder.

The spell had been cast. As long as neither Credence nor Percy wanted to end it, there was no turning back. And the notion that either of them could wish it to end didn't even cross his mind.

When he re-entered the bedroom, a massive breakfast tray floating behind him, he was all smiles and ease. He had enough practice to pull it off, too.

Days turned into weeks and Credence thawed. Under the brittle exterior hid a surprisingly naughty boy, smiles gradually widening, eyes glinting, and Theseus would have lied if he'd said he wasn’t touched by the transformation. A magic cast by whispers and flesh. And trust.

All the more reason to keep the ruse up. And Credence  _ was _ beautiful. There was no pretension necessary there. Even though Theseus knew his heart's desire, his body had always been more than willing to branch out. To indulge and delight in what was on offer. It would have taken a stronger man than him to watch Credence shudder under his touch without being moved by it. Feel the young man mold himself to him and Percy, eager to learn everything they had to teach. And as with anything, Credence proved an adept student.

And there was Percy too, finally letting go of the tension that had held him in its grip so bloody long. How could he love the man and not wish that for him? Begrudge him his happiness?

Percy and Credence were like moths each mistaking the other for a flame and Thes had taken away the glass shade. It had been inevitable, a future pressing against him from the moment he'd appeared in Percy's apartment and found the boy there. A future purring into his ear in harmony with the clock counting the time he'd be allowed to stay.

The only way of keeping Percy had been to let Credence in but Theseus knew that he might just be losing him anyway.

But he was good. He'd once fooled Percy that the other wizard wasn't breaking his heart by returning to America. A bit too successfully, as it turned out. He could pretend that he didn't feel himself slipping out now. He'd stitched the wounds, knitted them together but he knew the time to take the stitches out and discard them drew nearer with every night they spent entangled. With every wall in these two scarred men slowly eroding.

He kept playing the game until even he could play it no more. They'd been laughing in the kitchen just that morning, every sound a knife in his throat, and by afternoon, he'd packed his few belongings and was ready to move out. Because he was breaking and he wanted to spare them, who had already suffered so much, the shards. It was kinder to leave them feeling angry instead of guilty. He could at least give them that. A clean cut. Running back to England and as far out of their lives as he could manage. It would be difficult and it would hurt them but they would get over it. Together. He’d just have to find another way for himself. He’d managed once, he could just hope he would again.

But when he shrugged on his coat and tried hard to avoid the confusion in Percy's dark eyes, it was Credence's surprisingly strong grip on his wrist that stopped him. The younger man had been quicker in understanding just what was going on and the firmness with which he opposed Theseus was something he hadn't reckoned with.

“I will not let you go, Thes.”

There was no doubt in Credence's voice, just steady conviction. How much he had changed!

“I'm sorry, Credence, but I have to—”

“No.”

Theseus's eyebrow crawled up at that.

“I'm sorry, but no. You don't have to. You'd only have to go if you want it and you don't.”

“Credence …”

That was Percy, carefully trying to draw the younger wizard back. Probably attempting to shield him from the heartbreak that was to be the unavoidable companion of broken trust. Theseus could see how torn Percy was. Trying to avoid a drawn out confrontation, mostly for Credence's sake, but also because they'd been here before and Percy was still tired.

The shards were beginning to slip and Theseus told himself that this was the right decision. That he wasn't being rash. That they would get over it. Because they were together. That his place, though he didn't know where it was, wasn't here.

“No!” Credence shook off Percy's grip almost violently. He took another step towards Theseus and brought both his hands up to Theseus's face, cupping it gently, searching in his eyes and finding Merlin knows what. “Please … you don't have to.”

Theseus had expected that this wouldn't be easy, that Credence might prove unwilling to let him go, might cling and beg and cry, and he'd steeled his heart against it, promising himself it would be over soon, he'd escape and then he could deal with his wounds once he was somewhere alone.

But he found himself puzzled by Credence's expression. Firm, and gentle, and ... forgiving?

He was still trying to decipher it when Credence kissed him, not desperate, or demanding but slow, and gentle. With love.

And Theseus had nothing to shield himself from that.

He didn't return the kiss, was in fact unable to stir at all, stayed rooted to the spot when Credence pulled back, hands still at his cheeks.

“You are needed here, Theseus. You are loved.”

Theseus, by this time drowning in Credence's dark eyes, felt strong fingers clasp his clenched first. He hadn't even noticed when he'd tensed up like this.

“Credence is right. We ...  _ I _ need you, Thes.”

Percy slipped his hand under Credence's to turn Theseus's face towards himself, kissing him, too.

“You'll be fine,” Theseus rasped, suddenly afraid of being pulled under currents that he could neither understand nor fight.

“No. And neither would you.” Credence, again with his conviction.

“I ...” but Theseus didn't know what to say. How to fight an opposition that was built from gentleness and love instead of anger.

Tears and arguments might have hurt but would not have altered his course but now he faltered, afraid to look either of the two men in the eye.

“You don't need me.” A half-broken whisper addressed to the space between them.

“You stupid idiot. You stubborn stupid,  _ stupid _ idiot!” Percy touched his forehead against Theseus's and something in Theseus thinned, something cracked, and he leaned forward, letting himself be held by four strong hands.

Credence nibbled at his ear, his neck. The grip on the handle of his suitcase was gently loosened, his coat nudged from his shoulders and he shrugged helplessly out of it.

“I'm sorry if we took you for granted, Thes.”

Theseus had closed his eyes, relinquishing everything to the two men he loved. Who apparently truly loved him.

More layers of clothes went the same way as the coat, collecting on the floor, his skin discarded, defeated and shed. And he was at their mercy.

It was a gentler breaking than either Credence or Percival had gone through but it proved necessary to finally fit him fully into this new strange beast they formed. He’d come in to safe them but found he needed just as much saving. To give up control. And to be held.

As they did. Theseus kept his eyes closed, not caring which hands touched him where, too tired and too lost, losing himself more with every second that ticked by. There were arms and hands and mouths, lips and tongues and fingertips, and sometimes they seemed to belong to just one being and sometimes to more than was possible but it didn’t matter.

He offered no resistance as they led him to the bedroom.  _ Their _ bedroom. In the end, they hadn’t altered the blueprint, just the dimensions of the bed, so as to easily accommodate all three of them.

Theseus finally opened his eyes as he felt two sets of lips on his cock. Credence had begun to experiment in that direction lately but Percy seldom gave blowjobs.

Both men were looking right at him while their tongues swirled over heated flesh, teased and licked him into insanity. But if this was what insanity felt like, he’d welcome it with open arms.

Maybe this was where he belonged after all. Not just because he wished it but because Percival and Credence wished it too.

Theseus was not a passive man. Not in life and not in the bedroom but this once, he surrendered fully, knowing he was in safe hands, knowing that this once, he was the focus of attention. He'd always thought he didn't need it but now found it intoxicating.

“Thes, my love,” Percy was murmuring into his ear between kissing and licking his neck and throat, cradling him, one hand playing with his nipple, while Credence's tongue was swirling around his naval, hands busy further down.

He arched into them, needy whimpers escaping, as Credence positioned himself above Thes's crotch, sinking down onto his aching cock, dark eyes staring intently at him.

As Credence slowly began to move, Percy turned Thes's head aside for a slow, sensuous kiss that left him breathless. His fingers searched for, and found, Percy's cock, giving it some fumbling strokes, and Percy sighed appreciatively.

Thes licked his lips.

“Let me ...,” he trailed off, voice hoarse. But Percy understood and straddled him, guiding his cock to Thes' mouth, who eagerly met it, licking over the swollen head before closing his lips around it, and sucking hard.

Percy jerked forwards, steadying himself with one hand against the headboard, laughing.

“Always so greedy...”

Thes lost himself between the two men's rhythms, the pulling and pushing, the sliding, head light, thoughts stilled, listening to his lovers pant above him, taking their pleasure from him.

His hands gripped Credence's ass, bobbing up and down; his cheeks hollowed as he sucked harder on Percy's cock, and he smiled inwardly at the altered pitch in the men's voices as they praised him and begged him.

They didn't quite come in a concerted crescendo but were not far apart in their climaxes, after which Credence and Percy toppled off him to either side. After catching his breath, Credence crawled up to them and laid his cheek on Thes's chest, smiling up at him.

“I'm glad you didn't go,” he said and brushed a few strands of hair from Thes's sweaty brow.

“I'm glad too,” Percy agreed and slung an arm across his torso possessively.

Thes tipped his head back and closed his eyes, drawing both bodies closer to his.

“So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've managed to get this far, dear reader, I'd love to hear what you thought of it but in any case, I hope you enjoyed it!


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